


i had wishes granted (i never thought it was you)

by astoryaboutwar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Just baby angst, M/M, Phichit being the Best Friend Ever, Secret Admirer, Teeny Angst, Victor being a pining romantic sap, Yuuri is clueless are we actually surprised, mostly fluff and happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 10:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11598405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astoryaboutwar/pseuds/astoryaboutwar
Summary: The cards that accompany the gifts all end on the same note -You’re the first person I’ve ever wanted to hold on to.The thing is -Victor iskind. Victor is funny, and sweet, and warm and wonderful and isolated andlonely, and -Yuuri thinks he might be a little bit in love.(A lot.)(A Canon Divergence, Secret Admirer!AU written as a gift fic for the eternally patientlook-and-wonder.)





	i had wishes granted (i never thought it was you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [look_and_wonder22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/look_and_wonder22/gifts).



> So I ran a fic giveaway waaaaay back in January, and the lovely [look-and-wonder](http://look-and-wonder.tumblr.com/) was the recipient! (Thank you SO much for having the patience of a _saint_ , I know you had to wait SEVEN MONTHS for this, oh my god. I am honestly so sorry.)
> 
> They asked for a canon divergence secret admirer!AU, with Victor as the secret admirer, where Yuuri, post-GPF, does well enough at Nationals and 4CC to qualify for Worlds, where he meets Victor for the first time. Yuuri starts to receive letters and presents from a secret admirer while staying in contact with Victor, and Yuuri's conflicted over the two. They wanted Phichit to have a significant role, and also wanted a _teeny_ bit of angst, so I've done by best to hold myself back! (Seriously, I swear, there's hardly any angst in this, I'm proud of myself.)
> 
> I hand-waved parts of the reality of figure skating, so just bear with it in the name of artistic license, hah!
> 
> Enjoy!

The first time it happens, it’s a couple of days before Worlds, an early morning practice skate session to put himself through his paces. Yuuri’s stepping off the ice, juggling his water bottle, box of tissues, and soakers as he balances his way over to his gym bag. Celestino’s off talking to Seung-gil’s coach, nodding at him as he goes.

“New laces?” Phichit pipes up from the rinkside row above him, hands on hips as he surveys the arena.

Towel in hand, freshly-removed blade guards in the other, Yuuri glances up, beaming. “Phichit! I thought you were arriving tomorrow!”

“Thai Airways offered me an earlier flight, first class, and I wasn’t going to say no,” he smiles, plopping himself down on the bench to peer down at Yuuri drying his skates off. “But yeah, you’ve just changed the laces on that?”

Yuuri grimaces, nodding as he works on wiping off as much water and moisture from the blade as he can. “The old ones were fraying, so I figured I’d change them now and skate with them a few times before the competition to get used to the new tension.”

Phichit bobs his head in understanding, used to the practice. “These your old ones?” he asks, hand fishing into Yuuri’s open gym bag to pluck out a pair of worn black laces. “I see what you mean about the - “ the pause in his sentence is significant, startled, and Yuuri looks up, faintly alarmed.

“What is it?” Yuuri sets his skates aside, a finger coming to nudge his glasses more firmly into place.

Phichit’s smugly relaxed now, all sly smiles and knowing eyes. “Why, Yuuri, you didn’t tell me you were _seeing_ someone.”

Entirely perplexed, Yuuri leans in to inspect the contents of his bag, confused at the whiplash turn of conversation. “That’s because I’m _not,_ ” he defends, and then he spots -

That’s -

It’s a rose. In his gym bag. With _Katsuki Yuuri_ clumsily written in kanji on a tag, as if the writer hadn’t been used to the characters of his name, and a note attached.

“ _Uh huh,”_ Phichit reiterates, his smile all cheek. “What’s the note say?”

“I - ” Yuuri begins to say, then catches himself. “I have no idea how that got there.” He slips the note from the cord it’s tied to, flips it open after a surreptitious glance around.

_The way you skate - it’s like your body’s creating music._

Yuuri blushes, avoids Phichit’s eyes as he hands the note over for him to read.

Phichit squeals, hand coming around him to yank him in for a one-sided hug.

“Are you _sure_ there’s no one you’re dating? Some secret paramour you’re keeping on the side?”

Yuuri shoots him a deadpan look, followed by one that says, _who, me?_

“Nope,” Yuuri sighs, hand gesturing at himself for emphasis. “Never have before, still have yet to. You _know_ I’d tell you if anything happened.”

“ _Yuuri,”_ Phichit says, and he’s taken aback by the fervency in his tone, the gleeful light in his eyes. “This is even better than I imagined. You lucky bastard,” he continues, swatting Yuuri’s arm before diving into his own bag to retrieve his phone. Phichit swipes around on the screen, then prods Yuuri into position, nudging the rose into one of his hands. “Okay, smile. No, Yuuri - _smile._ ”

Selfie over with, Yuuri rolls his eyes and sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Will you tell me what’s going on now?”

Phichit’s applying various filters to their photo on Instagram, weird presets that change the colours drastically with each tap of his finger. “Give me a sec,” he replies, and Yuuri flings his hands up, going back to drying his skates off.

“Here we go,” Phichit says after a minute, shoving his phone into Yuuri’s face. He has to rear back to squint at the tiny screen. The both of them are side-by-side, clearly at the rink, grinning into the camera. The rose is held awkwardly in Yuuri’s hand, and Phichit’s forefinger is pointed at it, expression terrifyingly delighted.

_YUURI HAS A SECRET ADMIRER!!!!! #Jealous #SoRomantic #WhereDoIGetOne_

The photo’s already garnered over a hundred likes in the span of a few seconds.

Yuuri hands the phone back after a long minute, stunned wordless.

Another minute passes, Phichit chortling maniacally behind him.

“I hate you,” Yuuri declares.

Phichit’s devious laughter follows him out of the rink.

 

 

_____

 

 

Yuuri wins silver at Worlds.

It’s a hair’s breadth that separates Victor and second place, and a slightly wistful, envious Yuuri thinks part of it’s in the name. A scant 0.4 points divides steps miles apart on the podium.

Still, it’s as far as he’s ever come in his career, and the lights and flashes and flowers and congratulations are overwhelming, success a heady cocktail that blooms sweet on his tongue, and Yuuri soaks it all in, wide-eyed.

The ensuing banquet is raucous and jostling, people who’ve never paid him much mind coming up for the chance to speak to him, leaving Yuuri a stuttering, flustered mess.

He’s on his second glass of bubbling champagne, the alcohol leaving him warm and languid, when there’s Victor Nikiforov appearing at his elbow, head dipped, glasses clinking gently together in introduction.

“The man of the hour,” Victor salutes, raising the crystal flute in his hand. “Everyone wants to meet you, so I’m here to help fend them off.” He winks, plain flirtatiousness that has Yuuri chugging the rest of the champagne in his glass in flustered surprised.

“I’m not - ” Yuuri stammers, swallowing hard, “ - I mean, _you’re_ the champion, and everyone loves you.”

“Ah,” Victor hums, eyes twinkling. “But I’m boring, old news, and you’re the brilliant new skater with beautiful technique.”

Victor Nikiforov - _the_ Victor Nikiforov - is complimenting him on his skating. Yuuri thinks he might pass out.

His answering blush is a deep red that he’s sure paints his face an ungainly tomato shade.

“I watched both of your programmes at Four Continents,” Victor continues, and Yuuri swallows hard at the admission. “You were phenomenal. The way you skate - ” Victor waves an arm, gestures expansively with the glass in his hand, “ - it’s poetry in motion.”

“Th - thank you. I’ve been skating _Stammi Vicino,”_ Yuuri blurts, the champagne shaking free thoughts that tumble from clumsy, unpolished lips.

“Oh?” Victor responds, and there’s a new weight, a consideration in his gaze that leaves Yuuri breathless, pulse beating just that much quicker.

“Just in my free time,” Yuuri hastens to add, the heat of the blush on his face deepening. “I wouldn’t steal your programme for competitions, obviously. Not that it’s allowed.” He shakes his head, mentally groaning at the fool he must come across as being. “You know what I mean.”

Victor smiles, a small, sharply sincere thing that breaks and peeks through his polite, distantly genial mask for a second. “You’re wonderfully surprising, Yuuri,” he says at length, eyes potently blue and intent. “It’s unexpected.”

He pauses, then toasts his glass in Yuuri’s direction, grin on his face. “I’m glad.”

The rest of the evening is a blur, Victor never far from his side, the two of them orbiting the other, almost reluctant to part. At the end of the night, Victor keys his number into Yuuri’s phone, and Yuuri sends him a text in return.

In the car on the way back to their hotel, Celestino pats Yuuri affectionately on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you making new friends.”

Yuuri looks out the window, watches the city lights streak past.

“It is,” he says. “I’m glad.”

 

 

_____

 

 

 

By the time mid-May rolls around, they’re still exchanging dozens of messages a day, the sheer flurry of texts showing no signs of abating.

There’s one waiting for him when he wakes, bleary-eyed and sleepy, a photo of Victor winking into the camera, a pair of gold figure skates on his feet. New Edeas, gold-toned boots and blades, courtesy of his sponsor.

Yuuri sighs and shakes his head at the screen of his phone, smile fond.

 _That’s not competition-compliant,_ he pecks out on his phone. _And I still prefer it in black, anyway._  

Victor’s answering text is nothing but lines upon lines of gold crown emojis, entirely unrepentant.

A week later, a new letter comes, beautifully handwritten and heartfelt on heavy, thick card stock. Yuuri isn’t sure who it’s from at first, thinking it might have been misaddressed, but its contents have him coming up short.

 _I hope you liked the rose_. _Every time I watch you, you never fail to surprise me._

He presses startled fingers to his lips, then fumbles for his phone. He begins to compose a text to Victor, then falters. Stops.

Sits down on the sofa.

He’s not sure what their texting _means,_ and this - this secret admirer _thing_ feels wrong to bring into the nebulous grey area of their friendship.

_(Relationship?)_

Yuuri chews at his lower lip, uncertain, picking at the skin of his thumb.

He picks up his phone again and sends off a message to Phichit.

The response he receives is an entire text of _!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!,_ and Yuuri sighs as he’s bombarded with a series of excited texts and demands for _more detail, Yuuri, this is important._

The letters and gifts arrive almost daily over the next few weeks, each one leaving Yuuri more baffled, flustered, quietly pleased, and increasingly torn than the last.

There’s one letter, analysing in breathtaking detail his Short Programme at Four Continents, another sharing the sheer heart Yuuri brings to the sport, all signed _Yours, An Admirer_. There are more flowers - bouquets of tulips, stems of carnations, pressed sakura petals - and gifts that arrive in droves; an intricate snowglobe of Hasetsu, a metal katsudon keychain.

The snowglobe finds a home on his bedside table by the charger for his phone, and the keychain is attached to his gym bag. The flowers are kept in the scant vases he owns, their sweet floral scent lingering for days after they’ve wilted.

The cards that accompany the gifts all end on the same note -

_You’re the first person I’ve ever wanted to hold on to._

_Watching you opens up a brand, new world that I’d never known before._

_You don’t have to respond. I just want you to stay by my side._

Victor texts him throughout, an unending volley of messages that he goes to bed answering and wakes in the morning receiving, each building a clearer picture of the man he’s long chased the shadow of.

The thing is -

Victor is _kind._ Victor is funny, and sweet, and warm and wonderful and isolated and _lonely,_ and -

Yuuri thinks he might be a little bit in love.

_(A lot.)_

 

 

_____

 

 

July, and they’re Skyping each other with a regularity that has Phichit’s brows rising when Yuuri mentions it offhandedly.

The gifts and letters still come, a tiny stuffed toy Vicchan, a growing hill of letters that sing praises of him he’s not convinced he deserves. Yuuri traces the _Y_ of the _Yours,_ finger dipping in a curve, extending in a low loop. He presses the finger to his mouth, dents a mark on his lower lip.

He’s not mentioned any of this to Victor. He’s not convinced he _should_ , and as things stand, it’s too late to bring it up now.

Phichit swoons with each new letter Yuuri receives, whines about wanting an admirer of his own.

Yuuri keeps each new addition that arrives in the post in an old skate box he keeps by his bed, scatters dried, pressed flowers along the window sill of his dorm room.

His phone beeps, screen lighting up with a new message.

It’s Victor. Lately, it’s always been Victor.

_What are you up to today?_

Yuuri glances at his skates airing by the foot of his bed, upside down. _Just done with training for the day,_ he replies. _What’s up?_

The typing bubble on the app pops up, then fades. Appears again.

As if Victor’s uncertain, pausing to marshall his thoughts.

_Will you do me a favour?_

Yuuri’s nodding, then flushing as he realises it’s silly. Victor can’t see him.

_Of course. What can I do?_

_I have an interview on Channel 3 at 7pm today. Will you watch it?_

Yuuri’s frowning slightly into his screen, gnawing at his lower lip. Something about the request makes Yuuri - concerned.

 _Are you alright?_ he types back.

A string of smiling emojis, in rapid succession. _I am!! Sorry, didn’t mean to make you worry. It would just mean a lot to me. If you watched the interview, that is._

Yuuri will never, in a million years, let Victor know he regularly bookmarks and tracks his interviews and media appearances.

 _Oh! I’m glad,_ he sends. _I’ll be sure to catch it. :)_

 _Great!_ Victor responds, instant. _Will you…call me after?_

It’s an odd request, but it’s not as if they don’t Skype each other all the time, anyway.

 _I will,_ Yuuri replies, then chances a sun emoji.

He receives a rainbow emoji in response, and it keeps the smile on his face all through lunch and his afternoon lectures.

 

 

_____

 

 

At dinner, Phichit keeps giving him suspicious glances.

Yuuri ignores it until Phichit elbows him forcefully in the ribs, causing him to sputter and nearly choke on his melon soda.

“ _Out with it_ ,” Phichit demands. “Something happened. You’ve been floating on cloud nine all day, I’m envious of your lovey-dovey smog. _Spill_.”

“Are you trying to kill me? Take out the competition beforehand, is this your devious plan?”

Phichit waves him off, impatient. “If I wanted to assassinate everyone, I wouldn’t do it somewhere where I’d be so obviously seen. Probably poison, though.” He looks far more thoughtful than he should be. Yuuri pokes him in the arm.

“Still!” Phichit continues, “We’ve yet to hear what’s got _you_ in such a good mood.”

Yuuri picks at a hangnail, plays with the food in his plate. “We- _ell,_ ” he hedges, “I’m not - entirely sure?”

Phichit pouts. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“I mean, Victor texted me after practice to ask if I’d watch one of his interviews later. He seemed, I don’t know, kind of - nervous? Like it really mattered to him that I watched it?” Yuuri shrugs, allows a small smile to bloom across his face. “It made me happy, that’s all.”

“ _Ugh,”_ Phichit says. “The two of you. Why can’t I find my own handsome skater man? Where do they all hide?”

“We’re not - it isn’t _like that,_ ” Yuuri defends. “And _please_ , we both know you’ve been mooning at Chris for years now, don’t even front.”

Phichit sniffs, indignant. “Maybe I’m really in love with JJ.”

There’s a pause, as the words sink in, then they’re both making identical faces of - no. Just _no_.

“What about your secret admirer?” Phichit doing the thing where he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. He thinks it makes him look debonair and mysterious, Yuuri’s told him it makes him look like he has involuntary facial spasms.

Yuuri scrunches up his nose, sighing as he does. “It’s complicated. Sure, it’s nice, but I don’t even _know_ who they are. Victor’s…he’s here, you know? He’s this figure I’ve been chasing for so long, and now that I know him as a person, he’s everything and more. But I can’t help feeling bad. It’s - hard.”

“Have you tried writing back to your admirer? Asking them to reveal themselves?”

Yuuri shrugs. “How would I do that? They never leave a return address, and everything else is unmarked.”

“Ah,” Phichit sighs, pillowing his head in his arms on the table. “The perils of young love.” He’s smiling, but it’s gentle. Meant to distract, to cheer him up.

Yuuri bumps their shoulders together in thanks.

Standing from the table, Phichit throws him a cheeky wink. “Alright, enough love talk, I’ve got to hit the books. Have fun ogling your man in his interview, then. Fill me in on the details, I’m going to be in the library.”

“He’s not _my man - ”_ Yuuri’s hissing after him, but Phichit’s rounding the corner out of the cafeteria, unhearing.

Six forty-five sees Yuuri rushing back to his room, setting up his laptop and obsessively checking his internet connection for stability every minute or so. He’s pulling up the channel’s media player, double-checking the schedule, and pulling up a screen recording programme. He’s got all his bases covered.

At six fifty-seven, before he can second-guess himself and chicken out, he fires off a text to Victor. _I’m watching, as promised. :) All the best, you’ll do great as always!_

There’s no response. Yuuri imagines he must be in the middle of preparations, last-minute briefs. He refreshes the webpage once again, just to be sure he hasn’t somehow missed the start of the programme.

Seven now, and Yuuri lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

The usual credits roll on, and the presenter introduces herself, then Victor.

 _God_ , Victor.

He’s dressed in a three-piece suit, charcoal grey with the faintest sheen. His cuffs are perfectly turned out, shoes polished and shined. There’s a tiny metal rose pinned to his lapel, next to a royal blue tie.

He takes Yuuri’s breath away.

They talk about Victor’s career, about the past season and his podium finishes, interspersed with clips from his programmes. _Stammi Vicino. Eros. Agape._

“Well, Victor, with all this emphasis on love, you’ve certainly got tongues wagging. It’s been a pretty big theme for you, this past season, hasn’t it?”

Victor has a single finger pressed to his lower lip, the suggestion of a smile tugging at its corners. “Ah, Paula, the mystery!” he jokes. “Where would it be if I just came out and named them?”

Paula’s eyes light up at that, mischievous. “So there _is_ someone, then.”

Victor chuckles, affable, the consummate media darling. “Alright, I’ll bite. Yes, there is.”

Yuuri’s heart stops.

_Oh._

Starts pounding again, a furious drumbeat in his chest.

She claps her hands together, delighted. It’s hardly just personal interest, Yuuri’s distantly aware. The scoop will be all over the gossip columns tomorrow, and it’ll be Paula’s show that broke the news.

“Well?” she coaxes, leaning forward in her seat. “What can you tell us about her?” Her smile turns sly. “Or is it _him?”_

Yuuri’s leaning forward with her, hands clenched tightly together. His nails dig crescent-shaped welts into his palms.

“ _He,”_ Victor concedes, dipping his head with a slight smile, “Is… _special._ I’ve never met anyone like him.”

Paula beams, smitten. “So it’s a workplace romance, then? A fellow skater?”

Victor shrugs, effusive, but he nods. “He’s a skater. From the moment I saw him - it was - ” Victor pauses, as if summoning up the courage for something. He throws a glance at the camera.

Yuuri’s trembling now. His breath comes in spurts, in shudders.

Onscreen, Victor smiles, slow. Wavering, but with growing certainty. “The way he skates? It’s like his body is creating music.”

Yuuri startles so hard he knocks a glass of water off the table, and the next few seconds are a scramble of him sprinting for tissues, mopping it up, and regulating his breathing.

 _It’s him,_ his mind is screaming. It’s _him._

The more rational, logical part of his mind is scolding, chastising. _Don’t be an idiot. It’s a coincidence. Do you really think this is a fairytale? Grow up._

But he’s halfway to unlocking his phone, to keysmashing a message to Victor, to _asking_ -

Paula is enthralled by the revelation, by the sheer adoration in Victor’s tone. “How long have the two of you been together?”

Victor rubs at the nape of his neck, faintly abashed. “Well, Paula, that’s the thing. He doesn’t, uh - _know,_ yet.” Darts another glance at the camera. “But I’m hoping he will soon enough.” He takes a deep breath, then continues. “He’s the first person I’ve ever wanted to hold on to.”

Yuuri drops his phone. It clatters to the floor of his dorm room, the screen falling black. He’s -

Staring at Victor onscreen, agape. There are a million different thoughts surging through him, loudest: _it’s him._

And then: _oh_ shit, _it’s him_.

The rest of the interview passes in a haze, Paula reluctantly moving on to other less salacious, gossip-worthy topics. At seven-thirty, the credits roll, and the intro for the next programme airs.

Yuuri wordlessly shuts his laptop.

A minute passes. Two.

He bends to retrieve his phone, unlocks it to stare at his message history with Victor. Locks it.

Unlocks it again.

Abruptly, he stands, goes to pull out the box full of gifts and letters from his - from _Victor._ He sorts through the box with held breath, with reverent fingers. Sees everything in a new, softer light.

Seven forty-two. His phone lights up with a call.

He answers it, knows without looking who it’ll be.

“Victor,” he breathes.

There’s no greeting, no salutation. Just - “Did you watch it?” A cautious tone. Quietly hopeful.

“I - _of course_ I did.” Yuuri’s mind sputters. There are no words.

“And?”

He opens his lips to speak, comes up short. “I can’t believe you did that.”

Victor huffs, almost startled by his response, but the smile in his voice is audible. “This was the only thing I could think of to surprise you more than you've surprised me.”

Yuuri flushes, thinking of notes buried under his bed in boxes, carefully unfolded and refolded with each new entry.

“Peonies,” Yuuri blurts. “That’s my favourite flower. Not roses.”

He’s smacking himself over his lack of eloquence when Victor’s warm laughter filters through, tinny over the line crossing continents. “Yeah? I’ll bear that in mind for the future.”

“The future?” Yuuri parrots, blinking owlishly.

“The two of us,” Victor says. “Together. If you’ll have me, that is.”

There’s - so much between them. There’s their skating to think of, training and time differences and half the world between them, and the media and skating organisation politics, and their families and fans -

Yuuri searches for the words. The right ones. Finds them in lines written to him.

“Victor,” he says, “I’ve only ever wanted to stay by your side.”

Continents apart, bowed over their phones, they breathe in tandem, as one.

 

 

_____

 

 

 

KATSUKI SKATES NIKIFOROV’S PROGRAMME! COULD THIS BE HIS SECRET LOVER? INSIDER SOURCE SPILLS ALL! READ MORE ON PAGE 3 TO FIND OUT!

 

 

_____

 

 

_Epilogue / Omake_

 

“You’re telling me your secret admirer was _Victor Nikiforov.”_ Phichit’s sitting across him on his tiny dorm bed, gaping. “The _same Victor Nikiforov_ that you’ve been texting and totally having a not-relationship with _all this time._ The _same_ one that you’ve been pining after since you were a tiny child. _”_

Yuuri ducks his head. “Yes?”

“Oh my _god,_ you bastard, how do you _do it?”_ Phichit punches him in the arm. “What’s your secret?”

Yuuri grins, sappy.

Phichit grumbles.

“The next thing you’ll be telling me is that you’ve choreographed a pair skate together for your EX, and it’s all romantic and mushy and - _jesus christ, you have, haven’t you.”_

Yuuri shrugs, embarrassed.

“Oh my _god,_ ” Phichit echoes. “ _Oh my god._ I _hate you_ , Yuuri. I hate you _so much,_ you know that?”

“If it’s any consolation,” Yuuri offers, grinning wickedly, “I gave Chris your number.”

Phichit punches his arm so hard it leaves a bruise.

**Author's Note:**

> The skates that Victor wears in the photo he sends to Yuuri are [Edea Pianos](http://skatesus.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/Piano-Is-Here.jpg). Once I saw them, I couldn't stop picturing Victor in them.
> 
> I can be found on Tumblr [here](http://astoryaboutwar.tumblr.com)! Come say hi - I post drabbles and snippets of fics I'm working on from time to time!


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